


Empyrean

by eyasarcher



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Clint Feels, Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M, WinterHawk Big Bang, but there's twists, mcu compliant to some degree, winterhawk - Freeform, winterhawk mini bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 13:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10104926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyasarcher/pseuds/eyasarcher
Summary: There’s plenty of things you get taught how to handle; like your pet hamster dying, or your girlfriend breaking up with you. But no-one ever teaches you how to handle the Greek god, Apollo, attaching himself to your soul.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this piece is part of the winterhawk mini bang! It's something that was inspired by a prompt I got about six months ago, and since getting that prompt I have been so drawn to writing in this kind of greek god au.  
> The accompanying art for this was done by the simply wonderful Pathulu on tumblr!! The final piece can be found here https://pathulu.tumblr.com/post/158141030192/final-piece-for-the-winterhawk-mini-bang-heres#notes  
> They were fantastic to work with, inspiring and kind!  
> Thanks for any kudos, comments and love!  
> Sophie

**_Empyrean_** _, EM-PIE-RIAN._  
Adjective, relating to heaven.

Since the age of 14 Clint Barton has been struggling with nightmares and dreams, things beyond his own mortality. They’re not the same dreams that every 14 year old has, they’re the kind that stem from a Greek God whose fall from heaven meant that his own soul split in two, his physical being and mind attaching itself to one Clint Barton, and half of his own soul finding another vessel to cling to.  
The problem remains that said god Apollo, mourns the missing piece of himself, crying and screaming throughout most of Clint’s teenage years, and for Barton, whose life was already riddled with anomalies and horrors beyond his years, it was somewhat torturous to hear the mournful and solemn cries from somewhere deep within himself.  
  
But thankfully as Clint grew stumbling to find his own path in life, Apollo grew with him, learning more about the boy whose soul he chose to latch to, and eventually they learned to live together, working in harmony.  
But there’s not been a day that has gone by where Clint’s mind hasn’t been haunted by the person whom owns the other piece of Apollo. Sometimes he dreams of them, the one with the haunting grey eyes and a fiery will to survive, other times he has nightmares of their ordeals, ice and blood littering the walls of his mind. It’s somewhat lucky that Clint found himself at Shield, working as an assassin who knows how to cope with blood; gore, and horror, because these vivid images dancing around inside of his skull were not for the faint-hearted.

  
But the challenge comes after New York, his nightmares are his own, flashes of electric blue and the icy cold grip of mind control manifesting itself in the darkest corners of Clint’s mind. He spends months locked away in his Bed-Stuy apartment, desperately trying to shake the chill left in the wake of Loki. The floor around him slowly becomes littered with empty beer bottles and rotting food, the clutter brings him peace as he tries to regain control of his thoughts. But for the first time since Apollo joined him, the god is completely silent and it scares Barton, because Apollo was stomped into submission by Loki, a mere demi-god in comparison to him. But where Apollo is silent, his nightmares are slowly forced out by those grey eyes, someone reaching out to him through the furthest reaches of the darkness.

There are nights when he’s restless and unhinged, shooting until his knuckles dye white and his fingertips bloody, and it’s those nights that the other man reaches out. He seemingly understands the situation Clint is in and through their connection he whispers quiet words of reassurance and comfort, slowly helping the archer through the darkest of nights.

And he learns to cope, getting back into some kind of routine and eventually moving back to the tower, and for the first time since New York he finds a sense of stability and security, the gentle words of his companion still lingering.

His teammates know about Apollo, after Loki, Clint was forced into telling them, and of course they were all sceptical, Stark especially, but they learned to accept that Clint was a bit odd in the most special kind of way. It took time for them to adjust to the situation, but after Bruce and Tony poked and prodded at Clint for a little while, they did indeed find anomalies in his mortality.

And so he gained a family; a younger sister in Wanda, a dear friend in Steve, a quirky older brother in Tony, a fellow mortal in Sam. And for the first time in his entire life, Clint found a home.

But nothing good lasts forever. And it’s not long before the world gives Clint one last kick up the ass.

 

* * *

 

_“Get up, now.”_

Clint groans through the depths of his sleep, ignoring how Apollo is pounding against his chest hissing at the archer to move.

“No,” he grunts before pulling the sheets up around his shoulders and rolling further into the pillow, his cropped golden hair matting against the material and splaying out above his head.

_“Something is seriously wrong, get up. Now.”_

The archer chooses to further ignore the ethereal being, inwardly cursing his body and squeezing his eyes tight shut, trying to ignore whatever messages Apollo is sending his way. And just as he begins to unwind a little, an icy shiver curses up and down his spine, forcing the hairs all over his body to stand on end, and there’s a blood curdling scream breaking down the walls of his mind.

Clint practically leaps out of bed, his eyes wild and his heart slamming against the walls of his chest. His head is spinning and in the darkness of the night he starts to see things, blood and ice, his connection with Apollo’s soul keeper conjuring up these hallucinations.

“What the fuck was that?!” The archer curses, clutching at his sweaty bare chest, feeling his heart raging underneath his palm.

_“I told you, something isn’t righ-“_

Its then that the door to his room is forced open, and just as Clint is ready to protest the entry that Jarvis did nothing to prevent whatsoever, Natasha is in the room, a backpack slung across her shoulder, her holsters strapped across her thighs. She’s got her serious face on.

“I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but I think I remember you promising not to break into my room at 3am anymore-“

“This isn’t a time for fucking around, Clint.” Natasha’s words are venomous and shaky, and if Clint didn’t know her better, he’d venture to say scared.

“It’s a good job I was already awake, still kind of rude though.”

Natasha sends him a pointed glare through the folds of the night, her eyes are shiny and dull, like tears are threatening to fall. Maybe this is serious.

“What’s going on?” Clint asks, his voice more serious now, but he struggles to hold back against the full body tremor, it seems Apollo isn’t the only one who’s unsettled tonight.

“We’re compromised.” Natasha is rummaging through Clint’s draws, pulling out his gym bag from under the bed and stuffing in various pieces of clothing.

The archer moves to get up, making a move to run his hands through his hair. It’s then that he realises how much his head is pounding, the distant sounds of a scream drumming against his skull. He groans and stands up, the room spinning as he does.

“What do you mean, we’re compromised?”

The other assassin stops what she’s doing, and looks up at the man in front of her, a sigh falling from her red preened lips.

“Shield is gone.”

* * *

 

Nothing was the same after that. Clint had been pushed out of state by Natasha, being burdened with protecting the secrets they had built away from Shield; obtaining any documents, weapons or sentimental possessions from their safe houses, and then proceeding to burn them, attempting to keep Hydra as far removed as possible.

It takes its toll on the man, he had lived with The Avengers for pushing two years and had found a sense of peace and solace with the team, and of course everything was ruined just as he got settled.

But after four months on the run, with no-one other than Apollo by his side, Clint returned to the tower. The team was in tatters. Tony was nowhere to be seen, clearly isolating himself to his lab as he struggled with the PTSD and anxiety that came with having to deal with The Avengers in Steve’s absence.  
Steve, when he was around, was like a sad little puppy, moping and whining his way through life.  
Natasha and Sam were never at the tower, always chasing leads.  
Wanda had gone to live at The Avengers compound, not wanting the press that was dragged along with the whole ordeal in Washington.

So it came as a surprise to Clint when early one morning he waltz’ onto the communal floor only to find a team meeting happening. He stops for a moment, scratching at the scarred plains of his stomach, wondering whether he should be offended or not.

“Am I missing something important?” he asks over the hush of the conversation. Tony leans back in his chair to raise an eyebrow at the archer.

“Well, we did try to get you up, but clearly someone wasn’t budging this morning.”

Clint grabs at a freshly made pot of coffee, he takes a moment to scratch at his stubbly chin before taking a deep gulp and then moves to cross the open plan kitchen joining the others at the sofas. He soon realises by the photographs and files sprawled across the table that this is some kind of plan, they’re talking mission strategies.

_“Don’t get involved with this one, Clint. Something doesn’t feel right.”_

The archer takes a long sip of his scalding drink, trying to drown out how Apollo’s words sit at the back of his throat, tightening a noose around his neck.

“What have I missed?” he tries to ask casually.

“We’re going to find, Bucky.” Steve says firmly, his jaw all clenched up and tight.

“Haven’t you been saying that for the past five months?” Clint ventures, his voice soft and reassuring. He leans forward in his chair, scanning his eyes across the various pictures and pieces of information scattered on the surface of the table.

“See any patterns?” Natasha asks, her voice all solemn and dark like she’s been sat here for hours trying to figure something out.

“Well Apollo isn’t too happy so there’s got to be something going on.” Clint shrugs a little before tensing up, suddenly aware that everyone is watching him, waiting for any glimmer of hope. The archer doesn’t see anything of interest or importance, the co-ordinates and files coming up a blank, it’s only when he spots a picture of what he assumes is Barnes that something turns in him.

Bucky is clearly fresh out of cryo freeze, his long tattered hair sticking flat to his face as he’s dragged naked from the tube, his bulky chest littered with scars and dripping with melting ice. And beyond his defined jaw and dark stare, Clint notices the bright flecks of grey and blue in his dull eyes.

It’s like someone has punched him so hard in the gut, knocking all of the air out of his body. He physically jolts, hot coffee spilling into his lap, molten lava dribbling down his legs. He’s vaguely aware that the others are talking to him, but there’s white noise in his head. Apollo is frantically banging against his rib cage trying to ground Clint.

“Barton!”

Clint jumps back to reality only to be greeted by Steve’s concerned puppy eyes, all wide and scared. He’s pinning Clint’s arms to his side, scanning his face for any sign of trauma.

“Are you okay?”

The archer doesn’t reply, instead he’s listening to Apollo’s internal monologue.

“ _Something isn’t right, something is seriously wrong. Stay away from this, please. Stay as far away as you possibly can. This man is bad news, he’s not good.”_

Clint jerks his head in a nod, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

“Yeah, m’ fine. Just reminds me of someone I used to know.”

* * *

 

Clint doesn’t sleep after that. Distant cries of a man forced into a life resonating so deep in his chest that it unsettles Apollo too, the god sends nervous jitters through Clint’s body, his skin icy cold.

Its two months before they manage to bring in Barnes, and Clint is jerked awake by an uneasy feeling in his stomach, one that sends him to the toilet to throw up. He heaves for a while, choking on the acid sat at the back of his throat and it’s not long before the gags fall dry and his eyes finally stop watering.

He cleans himself up before heading to the communal floor, the feeling still swirling around in his gut. He’s going on instinct here, ignoring how Apollo is basically tearing apart his insides in a bid to get him to stop, he feels indifferent about this situation, wanting Clint to find out what’s going on but simultaneously fearing for the life of his mortal, and despite how brooding and unfair Apollo makes himself out to be, he cares deeply for the man whom is burdened with his essence.

It’s exactly 2.46am when the elevator doors to the floor ping open, cutting Steve’s ranting fit in two, and silencing Tony whose face is stained by tears.

Steve turns to look at the archer, his face is all hard set and stern, his eyes burning with a raw red. Tony briefly looks to Clint before dropping his eyes to the floor and rubbing at his face with the sleeves of his top, he looks defeated and tense. Natasha is at his side, not even looking at Clint but instead glaring past him.

“Go back to bed, Barton.” Steve hisses, barely looking at Clint.

“What’s going on-“ The archer steps out of the elevator, and immediately he twists on his heels, the hairs on his neck standing up as he turns to face the intruder.

Barnes is standing there, dressed in black jeans with a slightly torn grey shirt, a hoodie hangs loosely at his shoulders clearly a couple of sizes too big. He’s watching Clint carefully through the strands of dark hair falling across his face, casting shadows against his pale skin.

_“Oh my god…”_

Barnes goes a little wide eyed, his grey irises illuminated by the bright lights of the communal floor. He looks shocked, like someone has just poured a bucket of ice cold water over his head.

_“That’s him. I remember him.”_

Barnes…Bucky, steps forward, he casts a brief look at the others. Steve is stood rigid, watching him with a growing sense of unease. Tony is looking somewhere between confused and angry, and Natasha is braced at the billionaires side, hand on the gun at her hip.

As Bucky gets closer Clint’s heart thumps louder in his chest, like someone is trying to smash apart his ribcage. He’s seen the man a thousand times in his dreams, he’s been seeing him since he was fourteen, but now he’s actually here, right in front of him. And it’s like there are waves washing over his body and pulling him into the depths of his mind.

“Is it actually you?” Bucky’s voice is thick and hoarse, his eyes very carefully sweeping across the Archer’s face, mapping out every scar and freckle. Clint suddenly feels underdressed, only wearing a pair of black sweatpants. He nervously rolls his shoulders and ducks his head a little, careful not to lose Bucky’s gaze, nervous but completely transfixed by the man in front of him.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks from somewhere behind Clint, but the pair are focused on each other, and Clint is drinking in how ethereal and beautiful Bucky looks, despite how obvious the trauma is in the way he carries himself.

Barton thinks back to New York, how Bucky had helped to heal him, reaching out through the loneliest and darkest nights, seemingly wrapping him in an embrace, calloused hands soothing the full body tremors that came with the fall out.

Timidly, Bucky reaches out a shaky flesh hand, moving to carefully touch Clint’s unshaven cheek. The archer physically jolts, a surging feeling racing up from the tip of his toes to the very core of his mind. Barnes takes a sharp intake of breath, staring so deep in the windows of Clint’s mind.

Clint feels like he’s fourteen again, vividly remembering those grey eyes from his sweetest dreams and most venomous nightmares. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for just a brief second before looking up at Bucky again, making sure that he’s actually there.

“Clint Barton,” he whispers before smirking a little, a kind of laugh falling from his lips. “It’s nice to finally meet you."


End file.
